Godric's Hogwarts
by Chlorus
Summary: AU How was Hogwarts really founded? How did the creators come to be who they were? This is the story of Godric Gryffindor's journey to fame. Godric's POV. Mainly Godric/OC planned for later chapter.


**Disclaimer: **I'm pretty sure I don't own Harry Potter.

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Godric's Hogwarts

Chapter I

A young man with dark green eyes peer out across a lush green valley from the very edge of an ancient forest, longing to be with those who camp upon the small rise on the other side. He can detect the familiar scent of the cooking fires; he can hear the even more unique calls of playing children. The sun begins to peak over the edge of the world, warming his face and lighting up his tattered robes, drying them of the morning dew. It is as if the whole world has moved on and left him behind, which is very evident by his degrading health.

He lets out a long, low sigh in frustration as he fiddles with the dagger in his belt absentmindedly. He dares not stay long, for at any moment, a scout could see him, ending his hopes for freedom. He is just about to sink away into the forest and leave these people behind when he freezes. He has heard a noise, much closer than in the camp. His eyes dart in that direction. This is a man approaching, he can feel it.

He crouches low into the ground careful to avoid making any noises, hoping against hope that he has not been seen. The sounds continue to advance upon his position in the fields. He smells the tanned hides the man wears. He swears if he looks up he will see the man's face clearly. _No! He cannot find me!_

The sounds stop and he hears a gentle rasp, he dares to look up. He panics. Not ten paces away, a grizzly of a man stands with a drawn sword, a mean looking thing that has clearly been used by the look of the bloodstains not completely washed off. Time seems to slow down as the man advances slowly towards him, warily.

_He must know_, thinks the young man as he slowly gets up and backs away hastily, fear in his eyes as he contemplates how to escape. His eyes dart every which way, looking for something, anything. They swing back to the threat of the blade and work slowly up to his face; all the while he's getting to his feet and backing away. He sees the muscled figure and greater height of the older man and groans inwardly to himself, _he'll crush me with his bare hands._

"Come here... boy!" The man charges with sword overhead, determination in his eyes. The young man shakes his head in disbelief before turning and beginning to run, desperate to avoid tripping over the billowing rags he wears. He hears the crunching footsteps of the other man now but he dares not look back. Sweat begins to shine off his body as he plunges into the woods.

The young man stumbles and falls, twisting in time to avoid injury. However, not enough as he twists his ankle harshly on an overgrown root hidden in the undergrowth. He scrambles to his feet, breathing heavily and clutching his sides, as he wonders where his attacker is. He can hear nothing over the blood rushing through his ears. Steadying himself slowly, he glances where he thinks his pursuer should be. He sees him ambling along in the distance, obviously still following him.

_Damn it! Why can't he just leave me the hell alone? It's not as if I was going to attack them._ He continues trotting deeper into the forest, more careful to avoid further injury as he continues to favour his injured ankle. The light continually blinds him sporadically as it peaks down into the dank forest floor in fits and starts. He is gasping for breath now as he tries to listen for his pursuer. He hears something crashing through the forest, _Can't he just give up?_

The noises get much closer to him as he slows, seeing stars in his vision and struggling for breath, hunched over in the little shelter provided by one of the massive trees scattered throughout the forest. He looks up and growls to himself in anger, _I am Godric Gryffindor, I will not be afraid!_

Straightening up, the young man steps out into the opening, taking out his dagger and glaring in the direction of the older man who he continues to hear lumbering about over the roar of his eardrums. He waits.

More noises, from the side. It sounds to Godric like shouting. He groans aloud, "More?"

The older one bursts into the small clearing Godric finds himself at the edge of. Light pours in from the canopy and illuminates his face, shining into his eyes and giving them a look of an inner fire to the man who glares at him in disgust. They stand unmoving, a young man with a dagger, and an older man with a sword. Neither shifts their gaze from the other and it is as if time has stopped for them. Only the gentle rustling of leaves and the slight billowing of Godric's robes show that time continues to move forward, undisturbed by the conflict of these two men.

"Are you ready to die, boy?" The older man smirks and moves into a better stance. Sweat pours off of both men, ignored as they glare at each other.

"Only after you," Godric manoeuvres himself into a more suitable fighting stance, copying his elder before beginning to circle; fighting the slight trembling that threatens to over take him as he tries to concentrate of beating this brute.

The man smiles at this statement, the smile of a wolf, the predator. He circles with Godric, drawing closer, waiting for an opportunity. "You're an abomination boy, and do you know why? It's because you come from the devils, you're evil."

Anger swells and Godric falters, "I am not evil!" He lunges at the older man, dagger raised high to cut downwards. The elder throws Godric to the ground with a kick to the stomach and a deep, humiliating laugh.

"You're nothing boy, nothing but evil! I'll destroy you here and the people will thank me, your own family will thank me!" He smiles to himself as he circles Godric, who has gotten to his feet in a crouch, watching the older man with loathing, clutching his wounded stomach and holding his dagger ready.

Godric can taste his own blood now; he can hear only his raging blood. He stands slowly, watching the circling predator very carefully. _You bastard, why don't you attack me?_

"Where are your friends, eh? Do you need their support or are you going to attack me yourself? Coward!" Godric is worried about the answer but refuses to show it as he gestures as threatening as he can with his dagger, glaring at the older man, willing him to move.

"Oh I won't be requiring them to deal with a piece of shit like you, boy. I sent them back to the camp, which is where I'll be taking your head!" He lunges in for the kill. Godric jumps back, after trying to swing at the man with his own blade and having it shattered on the sword. _No, no, no!_

The older man lets out a triumphant roar, laughing as he advances upon a now unarmed opponent. "Oh I'm going to enjoy this boy, any last words?"

Godric is panicking. While backing up he trips over his robes and lands hard on his back. Crawling away, he looks around for something, anything to help him. The elder advances with a vicious grin plastered on his face, sword drawn level with Godric's heart.

"STOP!" screams Godric, holding his hand up in a vain attempt to shield himself from his assailant. Why he is abnormal is quickly shown through this.

A flash of blinding red light erupts from his palm and crashes into the elder. He drops to the ground in a heap of flesh, eyes glazed over and a look of shock etched into his skin. Godric frowns, breathing heavily and holding his hand out, looking at it with wide eyes, stunned. He crawls over to the fallen man warily, pulling the sword from his grasp. His heart is beating rapidly as he very slowly checks the other man for a pulse with a trembling hand. The man's heart still beats. He still smells rank and Godric quickly crawls away.

Godric stands up slowly, continuing to breathe heavily as he leaves the other man behind, not caring if the others find him. He slides the blade into his own belt, replacing his broken one, trying to steady his hands and calm his nerves as he thinks over what just happened. _How do I keep doing this? How can I stop a man without touching him? This makes no sense._

The sky is growing lighter and the air is getting warmer. Sweat is pouring off Godric in many rivulets as he shuffles his way back into the undergrowth, thinking about what he must now do as his eyes begin to adjust once more to the darker environment that is his temporary refuge. He is exhausted but even still; he dares not rest while still so close to the unconscious man he left behind. He must make a new life now; he has been abandoned, left for dead by those who should accept him, his family and his people. _How am I supposed to make a new life though? I have nothing._

He leans down, searching through the gloom to find a suitable walking stick. His muscles protest any movement and he grimaces against the pain. His thoughts are still reeling, _Well what do I really have? I have a sword and clothes._ He looks down on the articles in question and grimaces, _I don't really know how to use this and my clothes aren't worthy of the title._

He finds a stick and raises himself up to his full height. Using the walking stick, he is able to lessen the strain and make better progress. _What else do I have? Nothing that I can think of besides this curse of mine._

_Maybe I can control it. Yes that's what I'll do next, learn how to control this damn curse and make it work for me! _He frowns to himself, _How the hell am I supposed to do that?_

While thinking about how he is going to go about learning what he can do with his curse, Godric barely notices the change from a dense forest to a rather sparsely covered woodland. _What is the same when I use these powers? Nothing that I can think of, I just really want something to happen that I know can't, and then it happens._

Continuing to ponder on his curse, Godric emerges into the open plains abruptly. The light of the afternoon sun shines down heavily on him and he squints, trying to adjust his vision as he raises his hand to use as a visor. _A town should be somewhere in the distance... there._

He looks around the place he has arrived at. The valleys contain the usual lush selection of wild grass that seems so common to these areas, dominated by far off mountains that seem like grey shadows on the horizon. He sighs to himself and sits down, not daring to be caught in the open in the night. Resting his walking stick beside him, he looks around. _Now what can I do?_

He wraps his robes around himself and looks to his walking stick, curiosity etched across his face. _I'll need light. Maybe I can make things burn with this curse of mine._ He smiles to himself, _I think I'm going insane... burning a stick with my mind? Even I know better than that. Oh well, it's worth a shot._

He thinks back to those times when he made things happen, tries to summon up the feelings he was experiencing then. He focuses completely on the end of the branch, willing it to ignite. He feels his mind straining against the abuse of making it try something it knows it should not be doing. He grimaces and begins to breathe deeply. He stands, looking down on the stick, which appears to mock his every movement, his feeble attempts. It is a testament to his failure by the very fact that it remains unchanged. He is sweating but he no longer feels it, the entire world quickly becomes this small struggle for Godric. He points an accusing finger to the stick's end, he glares at it.

"BURN!" he screams at the top of his lunges. The stick remains unchanged. He growls in frustration and kicks it, storming away for a few paces before turning sharply and continuing to glare at the stick.

"Ugh! Why can't I make this damn curse work for me! What did I do to you gods that makes you so angry with me!" he is yelling up towards the heavens now, enraged that he should be unable to control a very important aspect of himself. _This is fucking bullshit!_

He shakes himself and tries to clear his mind, sitting a short distance from the stick, crossing his legs and staring at it with a determined expression. His eyes begin to cloud over as his concentration wavers. He sighs and leans back. _How can I do this? All I know is that I was screaming it in my mind and really wanted it to happen when I did. _

Godric rights himself and groans, he looks to the stick, finding it still unmoving as he fully expected. "Alright stick, you're going to burn if it takes me all year to find out how to do it. Now, let's get to work." He gets to his feet and towers over the stick, pointing to it while thinking of nothing but it burning. He screams, _Burn!_

All at once the stick begins to smoke, sending out plumes that smell of charcoal. He smiles and feels a tingling sensation beneath his skin working to the tips of his fingers; he tries to call on that feeling as he commands the stick to burn once more in his mind. The stick ignites in a ball of flame, nearly blinding Godric from the intensity and sending him sprawling backwards coughing.

He grins to himself as he slowly gets to his feet and observes the ruins of his walking stick, surrounded by a patch of completely ashen grass. "Success at last," he whispers appreciatively, stepping forwards and holding a tentative hand over the smouldering scene.

He scans the forest, deciding to gather plenty of sticks and test this new ability, eager to learn how to control it. Godric spends many hours practicing and finally has the talent mastered to the point where he can ignite only parts of a stick and keep it burning. Although from all this practicing, his robes smell of lingering smoke and he has several small burns across his body and scorched sections of his robes.

The sun has started to go down for the day and the air is beginning to cool, with the smell of dew becoming apparent on the summer breeze. Not a whisper is heard around Godric as he contemplates what he should do for the night, feeling exhilarated with his success.

Feeling slightly exhausted but unwilling to rest, especially not around the evidence of his experiment, Godric begins to walk away. Picking up another stick to use as a torch in the night, glad that he no longer has to sleep without a fire, or travel in complete darkness. He lights the makeshift torch and trudges his way through the valleys in the direction he hopes will carry him to the next village, one most likely inhabited by the more docile people of this land.

His thoughts as he scans the darkness beyond the light provided by his torch, are all of the past. He continues to wonder how his own family could leave him to die and even cast him out when he could not be to blame for having an unnatural talent. However, his thoughts begin to shift, _Am I alone in this world or are their others like me? How would I know if I saw one? What am I going to do with myself? I need to eat. Will I ever find a place that will accept me? I'm getting rather hungry._

As he grows more and more exhausted, the light begins to fade from his torch and he feels the tingly sensation he attributes to his power far more acutely. Dew soaks his robes and his skin wrinkles from the dampness. He is now utterly exhausted and his every unsteady step shows it. He cannot rest until he finds shelter, any shelter. All he sees are more rolling hills. He has no idea where his feet have taken him in the darkness. The darkness is becoming smothering, as time continues to pass.

Wrapping his sodden robes around his thin frame, Godric scans the dark, looking for any signs of danger or civilization. Finding none in the pitch black, he sighs in frustration at his situation. _How am I going to survive? I need to eat and I don't think I can just will myself to be full! _He punches a fist towards the heavens, "Why don't you show me the damn way you bastards."

He waits several moments, staring into the stars before nodding his head firmly, "No answers. That's all I ever seem to be getting from you fools these days, it makes a man wonder if you're even out there. Are you? Are you! I think not!"

Sighing to himself, Godric continues to amble through the darkness, seeing nothing beyond his vision with only the stars to guide him. He hears a wolf call into the night and shudders to himself, recalling an incident in his youth where a wolf was only kept at bay by his curse.

He stumbles and falls, picking himself up slowly, he continues to walk. He is now trudging mindlessly forwards in the dark. He smells the dew on the grass very acutely now; it is the only stench in the air aside from his smoky robes. The air chills his damp skin and he trembles subconsciously, barely recognizing the movements in the unsteady hand carrying his torch.

Godric breathes a sigh of relief as the sky begins to lighten and the sun begins to once more ascend into the heavens and illuminate the world. However, along with the brightening sky, he hears something, a long and low noise from the near distance but from the other side of a moderately sized rise in the valley. He pauses, before he hears it again. It sounds like a battle horn. Godric begins to rush towards the top of the crest. He halts at the top, regarding the sight before him open mouthed.

"Oh no..."

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**A/N -** So what do you think? Please review and let me know. This is my first story and I plan on continuing it. Thanks for giving this a shot at the very least :) I'll update whenever I can, won't try to guarrantee anything though.


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